


Something Sweet

by Sed



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Cute, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romantic Comedy, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-08-11 03:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20147020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: Exactly what it says on the (coffee) tin. Your standard romantic comedy coffee shop AU. Set in a modern-style Azeroth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So many people are to blame for this, but I suppose I have to accept most of that anyway because it was my idea.
> 
> At the moment things are pretty dark in my primary fic series, and I kind of thought it would be nice to have a little cutesy AU to enjoy for right now, while I work on the last two chapters. And thus the Anduin and Saurfang (we've been calling the ship lionfang) coffee shop romantic comedy was born. It's silly and fun, and I borrowed from different traits in each character to write this one, because you can't very well have a surly orc warrior hanging around a coffee shop. Well, he can be surly.
> 
> As for chapters, I have no idea how many there will end up being. I've been working on this whenever I need a break from the heavier stuff. Also it's about 600 degrees outside and I desperately wanted to pretend it's autumn already. Additional notes: I have never written a coffee shop AU, and I promised myself I never would, but here we are. Also if you criticize how Saurfang takes his tea I _will_ get mad and I _will_ cry. (Kidding. Maybe.)

The little gold bell clattered noisily as the door opened and closed. The new customer brought with them a gust of chilly autumn air, and Anduin clenched his teeth against a shiver. He had his back turned, but he dutifully called out, “Welcome to Stormwind Cafe!” anyway. It was no surprise when he didn’t receive an answer; customers never answered, they just took a seat or marched up to the counter to order their drink. Today’s special was the Tirisfal Pumpkin Latte. It came with a little bat-shaped cookie. Hallow’s End was still a few weeks away, but if Forsaken Bakin’ was already selling their green, cream-filled Abomination Buns, he wasn’t going to be left behind.

When he was sure he’d finally crammed as much whipped cream under the lid of the cup as it would possibly hold, he turned around to place the drink on the side counter. The name on the side looked like it read Ysera, but he knew that couldn’t be right. He shrugged.

“Black tea, to go,” the new customer said, his voice like a low rumble. Anduin’s head shot up from what he was writing, and his heart shot to the bottom of his stomach. He knew that voice. It belonged to the orc who had been coming in almost every day for two months. The orc who ordered black tea, took a seat at a table by the front window, and wrote in his notebook for hours until he disappeared just as mysteriously as he’d come. Like gnomish clockwork.

Anduin swallowed down the lump in his throat and forced himself to smile. “Right away,” he said. He hoped the orc couldn’t hear the tremor in his voice.

This was the first time he had served this particular customer himself. It had always been one of the others before. Anduin hadn’t been _avoiding_ the man, per se—at least, not at first. At first it had just been coincidental that they hadn’t managed to meet, and he was fine with that. He was content to steal a few quick glances and feel his cheeks flush at the sight of the older man. And sure, maybe he entertained a minor daydream here and there. One where he had to stay late to fix the cappuccino machine, and the smoldering, silent, unbearably attractive silver fox popped back in just before close to ask if Anduin had seen his favorite pen. It quickly devolved into sex after that; he’d lost some of the finer details along the way, and even he wasn’t quite sure how his mind had made that leap, but it hardly mattered.

He wasn’t supposed to be lusting after his customers. He was supposed to be attracting more business, and working hard to make sure his father’s dream didn’t go belly-up like a dead murloc. The legalese of handing a company, even one as small as Stormwind Cafe, over to a college student—_former_ college student—still confounded him. He only knew that he had business partners now, and responsibilities beyond making sure he got to the dining hall before they ran out of mana cakes every morning.

Anduin sighed and wiped a hand across his apron. The blue one that covered up his faded _Exodar Elekks_ sweatshirt. School had been easier, even if it had been harder in a lot of other ways. “What’s the name?” he asked, trying not to ‘accidentally’ trip and fall across the counter into the orcs waiting arms. Light, that would be nice. He wondered what it would be like to hug him.

“Varok.”

“One R, or…?” Anduin asked.

“One.”

For someone who spent hours writing, he certainly didn’t waste a lot of time on words. Anduin nodded, and set about putting together the little steel-mesh infuser that had probably been the first piece of equipment his father bought. Black tea. It was a rich blend, imported from Pandaria, though he had his doubts that this Varok fellow cared very much where his drink had originated. He set the tea to steep in the steaming water and spun around again—only to find that Varok was still there.

Anduin stammered, “I… Can I…”

He looked down and realized that there was money on the counter. Five silver. The price of a single black tea.

“Oh.”

He thought he caught a quick smirk, just a faint cant of his lips around his fangs, but it was gone in a flash if it had been there at all. Maybe it was just more wishful thinking. Anduin blew out a breath and swept the coins from the counter, depositing them in the till without daring to look up from his task. “It’ll be just a minute,” he muttered.

“Take your time.”

That voice. His knees threatened to give out every time he heard it. It was like the melted chocolate they used to dip cookies in the morning, or a warm blanket on a cold day. He wanted to groan whenever he heard it. Instead he waited for the orc to turn his back, and then dropped his head to the counter. The quiet _thunk_ seemed like a good analogy for his life.

Varok took a seat by the window, as usual. Anduin bit his lip. He could ask him what he was writing, but that seemed too intrusive. He could offer him a free cookie—no, a pastry. For a valued customer. He did come in almost every day, after all.

_And then what?_

That voice in the back of his mind had a point; why offer the man a free pastry at all? So he could stare at him up close for a few more agonizing seconds? He could see and suffer just as well from across the cafe. Varok wore black slacks and a red and gray sweater. Not a bright red, which made sense to Anduin. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who was fond of bright colors. Of course, Anduin had no basis for that assumption, but it seemed right, so he went with it and tailored his new daydream accordingly. Varok, who Anduin had long ago guessed was a novelist, also wore glasses. Black-framed reading glasses, which hung from the collar of his sweater until he sat down and opened up his notebook. Anduin stifled a needy sound; he was like a college professor and a football coach rolled into one, and—_why was he lusting over a customer he hardly knew?!_ No, scratch that, _didn’t know at all_.

“Tea.”

Anduin snapped out of his wandering thoughts and turned around so fast he almost went for a second circuit. “What?”

“That tea looks like it’s ready,” his assistant manager, Taelia, said. She peered up at him. “Are you having… thoughts… again?”

There was way more emphasis in those words than Anduin would have liked. She might as well have waggled her eyebrows at him. “No,” he snapped, though it was still a relatively soft rebuke. “Weren’t you cleaning the oven?”

“Yes, and then I _finished_ cleaning the oven,” she answered cheerfully. She was pouring the tea into a cup. Normally they would write the customer’s name on the side and leave it on the counter. Everyone knew the way it worked: you ordered, you paid, you got your own drink. Anduin had found early on that most people preferred that, rather than using the cafe’s ceramic mugs. It was easier to get up and leave that way, without worrying about finishing a drink that, thanks to the recent uptake in coffee culture, honestly cost way too much. All the various odds and ends one might use to spice up their order—literally or figuratively—could be found on a small table by the door.

His eyes wandered over to Varok’s broad shoulders and back. He drank _his_ tea with milk and sugar.

Anduin sighed.

“Here.”

He looked down and found Taelia holding out the to-go cup full of tea. “Put… it on the counter?” he said numbly.

“_Take it to him_.”

“What—no! I can’t—no!” Anduin squirmed out of the small space between the back counter and the cup Taelia was holding out for him, seeking refuge over by the cappuccino machine.

“I’ll write your number on the side,” she threatened.

“And I’ll accidentally spill the cup if you do. And then fire you. Go find something else to clean.”

She scoffed, setting the cup down dramatically. “You won’t fire me,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’ve got no idea how to work half the equipment in the back, and you’re rubbish at record keeping.”

“Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you should say it. To your _boss_.” He made a shooing gesture. “Go. Go!”

* * *

Varok watched some of the antics behind the counter from the corner of his eye. He smiled. He knew the owner of this cafe had passed away the year before, but he hadn’t realized it was the same man’s son who had taken over the business. Not until an associate of his had mentioned it. Prior to that, and some time spent locked away with his work, he’d been a regular customer. Upon his return he had taken up the same seat at the same table, ordered the same drink, and gone to work on the same novel he’d been writing for… well, it felt like forever, now.

It was nice to get back into a routine, but it was proving somewhat less productive than he’d anticipated. For one very good reason. One reason that was definitely too good for _him_.

His name tag read _Anduin_. So that made him Anduin Wrynn, unless he was mistaken. Varok had spoken with Varian Wrynn on a few occasions prior to his death. He knew very little apart from the fact that the man had lost his wife many years earlier, as that was something they had in common. Such details seemed to spring up out of the blue, especially when it was least convenient. It didn’t seem to Varok that there were any other family members working in the cafe, or at least none had shown up that he could tell. None that looked like Anduin. And Varok knew quite well what _he_ looked like.

Anduin, who was far, far too young and beautiful and probably buoyant and optimistic to be anywhere near Varok’s league, was lithe, blond, blue-eyed, and had the sort of face most artists would strive to depict in their best works. Varok thought perhaps he had been an artist himself. He seemed the type. His Exodar University sweater seemed to indicate he went to college—or he likely _had_ gone, at least, before his father’s death had thrust the reins of a moderately successful small business into his hands. It was a shame. He had probably enjoyed his studies.

Varok shook his head. That was a completely baseless assumption. If he was going to invent stories, it was probably best to stick to his own characters.

Frustrated, he tossed his pen down on the page and sighed. He rubbed his eyes beneath the frame of his glasses. His story only needed an end, and it was not easy going. Worse still, he had a meeting with his _junior agent_ today. Horde Publishing House had lost interest in wasting their time sending salaried literary agents out to meet with him. Now they used him as a training model. A how-to for handling recalcitrant authors. Lesson one for new recruits: _“What to do when your former award-winning novelist hasn’t produced anything of merit for going on four years.”_

His pen rolled off the page and onto the floor with a clatter. Just as he bent to pick it up his head nearly collided with an arm and a tray.

“Oh!” he heard whoever was holding the tray exclaim in surprise. Varok looked up to find that it was none other than Anduin Wrynn. His blue eyes were wide and his mouth was frozen in a soft O. “I’m sorry!”

“No—no, it wasn’t your fault,” Varok insisted. He realized with a start that he was still sitting, having nearly knocked a whole tray of scalding liquid onto the object of his inappropriate musings. “Let me…” He stood and reached out for the cup of tea on the tray, careful not to unbalance it.

“Actually the, well, the whole thing is for you,” Anduin said. He used his head to gesture to the small plate that had been next to the cup. Some sort of pastry sat atop it. His hair swung into his eyes, and he inelegantly blew the stray locks away with a puff of air. “If you want?”

“Me?”

Anduin looked around. “Unless I have the wrong writer who orders black tea and sits at that table every day.”

It took a moment, but Varok found his feet again and managed a smirk. “No,” he said, “I think that’s me.”

“Good.” He was rewarded with a smile, and what a smile it was. It certainly rivaled the gray-filtered sunlight streaming in through the window. “Oh, and,” Anduin muttered as he shifted the tray to one hand and reached into the front pocket of his apron. He produced— “Cream and sugar. I hope you don’t mind the little cups. I could get you the carafe of whole milk, if you prefer.”

He did. He absolutely did prefer the whole milk, but he wasn’t about to say that. “This is fine.” It was true about the sugar packets, anyway. That meant it wasn’t really a lie, and he didn’t have to feel like a fool for agreeing so easily. Why was his mouth so _dry?_

Once he had handed everything over, and it had all been transferred to the table behind him, Varok realized he had no idea what else to say. Besides, perhaps, “Thank you.”

“Oh, well, you’re here every day. If that doesn’t earn you something sweet once in a while…” He thought he saw a quick wince, and Anduin definitely blushed. No more than a dusting of pale pink across his cheeks, suffusing the skin just below his dark lashes as his gaze shot to the floor between them. Well. That was certainly interesting. “Well, uh,” Anduin cleared his throat. “Let me know if you need anything else?”

“Of course.” He hardly registered the sound of the bell as the door opened and closed behind him. He was too taken with the adorably inept and charming attempt at flirtation that, against all odds, seemed to be taking place before him. _At_ him, in fact. A very loud, very insistent voice in the back of his head reminded him that Anduin Wrynn was about forty-five years his junior and certainly had better prospects. Another voice told the first voice to shut up, and enjoy that a beautiful young man with stunning eyes was now smiling shyly at him.

“‘Ey, Saurfang!” he heard a familiar voice prompt over his shoulder. “Sorry I’m late, I got stuck in traffic and… You okay?”

Varok closed his eyes and sighed. “Zekhan,” he growled. Perfect timing.

“Well, you sound like your same old grumpy self. It’s a good thing I like you so much.” Zekhan, junior agent for Horde Publishing House, insinuated himself between Anduin and Varok and slipped into the empty chair on the other side of the table. “You got hot chocolate here?” he asked Anduin.

Whatever had been happening for those few breathless moments unraveled like a ball of yarn, and Anduin blinked, breaking the spell. “We do,” he said, still looking into Varok’s eyes. When he finally pulled himself away, it was—it seemed, at least to Varok’s hopeful heart—regretfully. “Small or large?”

“Don’t do that ‘three sizes’ thing here, eh?” Zekhan asked. “I’ll take a large. Whipped cream, yeah?”

“Sure. I’ll get that for you right away.”

Varok tried to catch Anduin’s eye again, to give him some indication that he wanted to recapture whatever had been there before, but they seemed to slide apart like oil and water. And then, as quickly and quietly as he’d appeared, he was gone.

“We gotta go over these weird changes you made to the last few chapters.” Zekhan paused. “You gonna sit?”

He continued to stare at the empty space behind the counter. Wherever Anduin had gone, it wasn’t to make hot chocolate for the young troll. “Yes,” he said. He let out a long sigh and reached back for his chair. Zekhan, bright and bubbly as usual, was waiting for him with a grin. “The last few chapters?” he asked wearily, rubbing at the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

So much for that.


	2. Chapter 2

“Why do we keep coming back to this cafe, anyway?” Zekhan asked. He was slowly eating the whipped cream from his drink with the flat end of a coffee stirrer, one tiny spoonful at a time. “I know there’s coffee closer to your place.”

“No reason,” Varok mumbled. He was slowly organizing a sheaf of loose-leaf paper, each page wrinkled from overuse and too many trips to and from the cafe.

It had been two weeks since that strange and exciting encounter with Anduin, the young owner of the cafe where they were presently sitting. He had returned like clockwork each day that followed, hoping to recapture the moment, and growing increasingly convinced it was impossible. At first he had thought it was simply an unfortunate bout of bad timing on his part, but as the days went on he began to realize that it was entirely likely Anduin was avoiding him. There simply was no other way to explain a cafe owner so thoroughly disappearing from his own cafe. Instead it was the young woman, Taelia, who always took his order. And she did not seem pleased by the task, either.

Varok had tried to ask about Anduin—once, and only once. After setting his things down on the table by the window, he had gone up to the counter to place his order as usual. Taelia was standing there, as she so frequently seemed to be. She had a plastic smile for him, and dutifully rang the sale without issue. Nothing about it had seemed at all odd or off-putting at the time. It was only when he’d returned to retrieve his tea that he encountered her inexplicable disdain.

“Is Anduin around?” he’d asked. Simple and to the point.

Taelia had stared at him, her dark eyes fixed on his, like she was measuring him up for something. A coffin, perhaps. “Not right now,” she finally answered, her voice as flat as the countertop where her hands lay.

“Do you know when he’ll be in?”

She arched one slender black brow and said, “Later.”

And that was the most he had been willing to engage with the girl who appeared ready and willing to throw scalding coffee in his face. He had no idea what he’d done to offend her, she always seemed so pleasant at other times. It seemed safer not to ask—about her anger or Anduin’s whereabouts.

Shortly after that he’d made the decision to consider the matter closed. If he had been flirting at all, Anduin had probably realized that they were too different, too mismatched in every way that mattered. While the idea was certainly appealing in many, many ways, it had no future. After all, Anduin was a young man. He had a great deal more future to worry about than someone like Varok. So the matter was closed. There was no reason to bring it up ever again.

Except Zekhan didn’t seem to have gotten that memo.

“No reason, eh?” he prompted. He took a long sip of his hot chocolate. “No reason like a pair of pretty blue eyes?”

Varok’s hands slipped and crumpled several pieces of paper, and he stared up at Zekhan over the top of his glasses. He knew his mouth was hanging open, but he didn’t have the sense to close it, deny the whole thing, and tell Zekhan he was fired. Not that he could do the last one, but then again he couldn’t seem to do the others, either.

“I interrupted something the last time I was here, right? You shoulda told me.”

“What did you want me to do,” Varok asked, regaining some of his composure, “hang a sock on the cafe door?”

Zekhan made a show of pretending to be bothered by the wry response. “Don’t need that in my head, thanks. But you coulda said _something_.”

“I didn’t know they were paying you to offer relationship advice,” Varok muttered into his tea. It was still far too hot to drink, but he hid his discomfort behind a sour look. “You’re still hourly, aren’t you?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure this ain’t an unpaid internship. But you’re dodgin’ my point.”

“And that is?” Varok asked.

“Of course you’re here lookin’ like the world’s scariest sad puppy, waiting for your boy to show up again. You can’t just sit back and hope it’ll happen! Get his number, go after him!”

Varok thought about it. He rolled the words around in his head for what felt like several minutes, weighing their worth against what his own thoughts were telling him. Considering what he might stand to gain by following Zekhan’s advice, and what he might lose.

Then he packed up his notebook and his files and picked up his tea, and said, “I’ll see you at our next meeting.”

“Oh, don’t be like that!”

“Goodbye.”

“Not even gonna use my name no more?” Zekhan held his arms out wide, a sad frown on his face beneath his tusks. “That’s low, man.”

Varok walked, and he let his thoughts wander while his feet carried him the eleven blocks back to his apartment. Zekhan was probably more right than wrong. What good was he if he couldn’t even say something as simple as, _“Would you like to get coffee sometime?”_

He stopped mid-stride and sighed at himself. Asking a cafe owner out for coffee. Brilliant. No wonder he was alone.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t have Anduin’s number. At least, he had his work number. But that seemed like it would probably cross a line into uncomfortable, if not outright inappropriate. And then there was his ever-present fear that Anduin hadn’t actually been flirting at all. Could he even trust his own assessment of what had happened in those few stolen moments? It was possible he had misread the entire interaction. In fact—he decided after several minutes spent brooding over his memories of their brief conversation—it wasn’t just possible, it was likely.

No, Zekhan wasn’t right at all. Nothing had happened, and nothing _would_ happen, and that was that. Tomorrow he’d find a different cafe. One closer to home.

He picked up the pace, one foot in front of the other, notebook held tight to his side. His fingertips worried at the clasp that kept it closed, and kept his favorite pen from falling—

Kept his pen from falling out. When it was in there to begin with. “_Damn it_.”

* * *

Anduin eased up to the door between the kitchen and the front of the cafe and asked, “Is he gone?”

“He’s been gone. About ten minutes now.” Taelia sighed. “Yes, and the troll, too.”

“Good.” Anduin toed the door open and slipped out into the front, next to Taelia. “I put the stock away.”

“I suppose at least one good thing’ll come of you hiding back there every afternoon.”

“I am not hiding,” he insisted. “It’s just…”

“You’re hiding. It’s alright,” she said, “I understand why.”

She understood that he felt like a complete fool for practically throwing himself at an older man, already terrified of being rejected for the inexperienced, immature idiot he was, only to discover that said older man already had someone? Someone who probably a lot more to offer than Anduin? Doubtful.

He didn’t say any of that, however. He just sighed deeply and nodded.

“If you ask me, it was his fault for letting you bat those long eyelashes of yours without telling you he already had a little blue slice on the side.” She practically slammed a stack of paper cups down on the counter next to his hand.

Anduin jerked his hand away, concerned for his fingers. “It’s not like he agreed to marry me,” he pointed out.

“He led you on, though, didn’t he? The nerve. And to think I encouraged you to talk to him. I should spill his blasted tea next time he sets foot in here. All over the front of him. Flirt with _that_, you great green scoundrel.”

Anduin began surreptitiously moving all of the sharp objects out of her reach. “That’s probably a bad idea,” he said. “And definitely illegal.”

“Well, then,” she hesitated. “I’ll snap all his cookies in half before I give them to him.”

He thought about it for a few seconds. “You can definitely do that. But he doesn’t order cookies.”

“I’ll give him some, then. Broken down to the last crumb.”

It seemed pointless to mention that, by giving him free cookies, even broken ones, she was not actually punishing him, but simply rewarding him in a roundabout way. Her heart was in the right place, at least. He appreciated her unwavering, if somewhat alarming support. “Mind if I head out early today?” he asked. The urge to lay his head on the counter was strong, and that didn’t seem like the right attitude for someone in a managerial position.

“Oh, go on,” Taelia sighed. “Go get your heart right.”

“Not sure it’s my heart that needs righting. My head is what got me in this trouble.” And his feet, which had carried him over there. Not to mention his mouth. He remembered the _something sweet_ comment and cringed at himself all over again.

“You say that like the two aren’t working together, thick as thieves. Leave me the keys,” she said.

Anduin took his keyring from his pocket and tossed it into her open hands. She caught it and jingled them. “Now I’m king of the castle.”

“If you want to steal the cafe you also have to steal the bills.”

“Ugh, no.” She grimaced.

He smiled at her. “Right, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for covering things.”

“Tomorrow,” she insisted, “I’ll find you someone to take your mind off that two-timing orc. Perhaps a handsome worgen gentleman. How do you feel about fur? Odds are in your favor it’ll be grey no matter what.”

“Goodbye, Taelia.”

Anduin let the cafe door close behind him, listening to the familiar ring of the little gold bell. The sky was grey. It had been grey every day for weeks, which was fine by him. It suited his mood, and, sadly, the current outlook on his romantic prospects. It wasn’t that he was actively looking for someone, really. He just didn’t want to feel so… alone. Which, he supposed, was the same as actively looking for someone.

And sure, there was something _incredibly_ appealing about the thought of leaving the cafe every day and sinking into the arms of someone warm and reliable who actually wanted him around. But he didn’t even know this Varok guy. For all he knew, Varok was a serial killer. And a writer, he supposed. Maybe a serial killer who wrote about the murders he committed. The point was, he had built up an idea in his head and it didn’t match reality, because he had no idea what that reality was. So, that was all there was to it. Lesson learned. He would move on and find some other bad idea to daydream about. It’s not like he had trouble finding those.

He forced his feet to move, one step at a time, away from the cafe. The sidewalk was old and broken in too many places to count, and tree roots had left perilous cracks in the slabs that made tripping a very real concern. Anduin kept his eyes on the ground, no more interested in falling on his face than meeting the smiles of passing strangers and the more familiar shopkeepers that surrounded his own little corner of the city. It also gave him plenty of time to dwell on how poorly he was handling something as simple as a stray crush. He lifted a hand to his face and sighed into his palm at yet another uninvited reminder of just how _stupid_ he’d sounded.

And that’s when he saw it: a pen, lying in the space between two broken pieces of sidewalk.

But not just _any_ pen.

Anduin bent to pick it up, certain it was fate playing some terrible trick on him, and vowing only to return it to the cafe so that Taelia could reunite it with its owner. Provided she didn’t dip it in hot coffee first. At that very same moment he heard a familiar voice, like a low, rumbling growl, say, “That’s my—_oh_. Anduin.”

Well. This was going to be awkward.


	3. Chapter 3

“You remember my name,” Anduin exclaimed, happier than he knew he should be just to see the older man. Maybe avoiding him hadn’t been the answer after all. He could do this. He could get _himself_ over his stupid, unrequited crush.

Varok stumbled over his words for a few seconds, but then he seemed to find himself, and he smiled. “Of course. I’ve been by the cafe a few times. Hoping to see you.”

Well, so much for that plan. Anduin tried to fight back a frown solely for himself. He should have stayed in the back room at the cafe.

“Oh,” he breathed. He hadn’t prepared a lie to explain his very sudden absence, and now he was kicking himself for such an obvious oversight. Sick? No, it had been too long for anything minor enough that he wouldn’t have had to visit the hospital. That would open up a whole line of questions and lead to more lies, and he didn’t need that kind of trouble. Vacation, then? He almost laughed at himself. Like anyone would believe he had the money for that. That left— “I was busy.” Nice. Vague.

“Busy,” Varok echoed.

“Yeah, you know.”

It didn’t look like he knew at all, and the conversation, whatever it was, was quickly spiraling out of control. Anduin could hear himself losing the thread, and his mounting panic only added to the slew of inane rambling that was tumbling forth from his lips. “Projects? Meetings. A lot… going on. The oven broke. We make cookies—ah, you know that. But only the cookies. We get the pastries from the bakery. Down the street. The—” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the Forsaken Bakin’ storefront. “They actually made the deal with my dad, but their manager honored the contract after he passed, which is… It’s nice. So, you know, we get a really great deal on bulk orders. They last a while, too. Refrigerated. I’m not really sure how, the signs say they don’t use preservatives. Like, I guess they have some method. Well, keeping them cold probably helps. But they’re Forsaken, so if anyone knows how to keep something fresh past the date—”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

The question was so unexpected that Anduin’s mouth kept moving long after he’d stopped producing sounds. Which, given what he’d been saying for the past few minutes, was probably a good thing. He stared—for far too long—and then said, “Why?”

Varok didn’t seem to have an answer for that question. Under different circumstances Anduin might have been proud of himself for snatching the words away from a man whose job it was to come up with them, but he wasn’t. He just felt stupid all over again.

Varok looked at him. His glasses were folded up and hanging from the neck of his sweater—solid black, today. It looked _great_ on him. The lenses caught the reflection of the light as he shifted from one foot to the other and asked, “Why?”

“Well, yeah,” Anduin laughed at himself, embarrassed, “I mean—I’m—and you’re…” Suddenly it was as if he could hear Taelia’s voice, reminding him that it had been Varok’s mistake, not his, and he should go easy on himself. He straightened his shoulders from their anxious hunch and said, “Actually, no.”

“Oh.”

“But thanks for asking.” It was nice, in a way, to at least know that his incredibly unrealistic crush hadn’t been so unrealistic after all. Even if the object of said crush was a bit of a scoundrel, as Taelia had insisted. He really ought to listen to her advice more often. Especially since he couldn’t afford to give her a raise.

“Of course, I—well, can I have my pen, in that case?”

Anduin started, abruptly torn from his moment of triumph. He reached out with the pen as he said, “Of course, yeah. Here.”

Varok took it back, nodding his thanks. He tucked it into his pocket. “Can I ask why?” He put his now-free hand up, as if to ward off any suspicions Anduin might have about his motives. “For curiosity’s sake.”

“Well, I’m really… I’m not interested in sharing, I guess? I mean, I guess if he knows about it that’s different, and great for you guys, of course. But it isn’t for me. That’s all.” He was rambling again. _Shut up, Anduin!_

“Sorry, I’m confused. What are you talking about?”

There it was, that sudden spike of dread, shooting down into the pit of his stomach. Anduin felt hot despite the chill in the air, and the breeze that made the leaves dance around their feet. Had he—had he actually gotten the whole thing wrong?

Oh, no. No, no, no… “You’re dating that troll who comes into the coffee shop sometimes, right? Red hair? You’re—no, you’re not, are you,” he said, feeling all that courage he’d managed to gather deflate like an old balloon. It was replaced with profound humiliation, and a very strong urge to find a lake and jump in. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You thought I was flirting with you in front of my…”

“Your boyfriend.”

“Zekhan is my agent. He’s trying to make me change the last third of a novel I’ve been working on for a few years, and he thought meeting me here, where I like to write, would help. He’s a good guy.”

“But you’re not dating him,” Anduin said, for some reason wanting confirmation that he had made the single dumbest mistake of his life so far.

“I am not dating him,” Varok confirmed, shaking his head. Then, much to Anduin’s shock, he added, “But I’d like to date you. If clearing that up has changed anything.”

“You—” Anduin struggled to make his tongue form the shapes it needed to so he could say something—anything. Something like _Yes! I absolutely would like to go out with you! Right now!_ Instead, because he couldn’t seem to remember how to breathe and speak at the same time without falling over his own feet, he once again asked, “Why?”

“We’re not really getting very far with this, are we.”

Anduin shook his head.

“Your cafe is right there, do you want to go inside and talk? I assume that Taelia—that’s her name, right?”

Anduin nodded.

“I assume Taelia won’t hit me with an empty coffee pot if I come along with you, and we have a conversation. We’ll be in plain sight, she can keep an eye on us. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Yes.”

Varok smiled. He gestured for Anduin to lead the way, and when that didn’t work, he did it himself, gently nudging Anduin’s arm with the back of his hand to prompt him to walk. They returned to the cafe together, and Varok held the door for him. Anduin heard the little gold bell jingle over his head, and then the door closed, and he was right back where he’d started.

Sort of.

* * *

“I should apologize,” Anduin said after a few minutes. It seemed he had finally found his footing after Varok had so thoroughly pulled the rug out from under him. Figuratively speaking, of course. “I’m not normally this…”

“I don’t think you should apologize for having boundaries and sticking to them,” Varok pointed out. “Though, hiding in the back of your own cafe probably isn’t the best solution when things go wrong.”

“In my defense, I got a lot of work done back there.” Anduin laughed. He had such a beautiful laugh; lighthearted and bright. It made Varok want to sigh just hearing it. “And Taelia likes to stay out front,” he added.

“She also likes to make her feelings about people _very_ clear.” He inclined his head in the direction of the front counter. Anduin turned to find Taelia standing there, scowling at the two of them. He tried to wave her off inconspicuously.

“Well, she did think you were trying to hit on me while you already had a boyfriend. You can’t buy that kind of loyalty,” he said. “We’ve been friends since we were young.”

“Fair enough. So, let’s clear everything up: I’m not dating Zekhan, and you _were_ flirting with me that day you brought me the pastry?”

Anduin laughed. “Trying to,” he said. “I thought it was painfully obvious.”

“You convinced yourself that my agent saying he liked me meant we were a couple. I think we both have some idea how easy it is to overthink things,” Varok pointed out. “Also, I’m…” He gestured to himself and gave Anduin a lopsided smirk.

But Anduin only shook his head. “You’re what?”

“There are significant difference between us.”

“Well, yeah. I’m not looking to date myself,” Anduin chuckled. “I like those differences. In fact,” he bit his lip and smiled so shyly that Varok had a hard time not melting in his seat, “I kind of… _specifically_ like those differences.”

Oh. _Oh_. “I see.”

“Yeah. So,” Anduin twisted in his seat to look at the clock on the wall behind him. “It’s close enough to dinner time, I think. Was that offer good for tonight?”

It was strange to suddenly find himself on the other end of someone’s confidence. If Anduin was confident at all, and not just doing an exceptional job of faking it. Varok stammered a few times, and then nodded. “Of course it is,” he said. What he didn’t say was, _“It’s good for every night.”_ That was probably far too forward, even if it was true. One date wasn’t a relationship. Although there was a part of him, which he kept well hidden behind pragmatism and a healthy dose of reasonable expectations, that hoped it might become just that. Really, it was all up to Anduin.

“Let me explain to Taelia.”

Varok glanced in her direction. She was furiously stirring a spoon around the bottom of a large mug. And staring at him.

“Please do.”

No sooner had Anduin left the table than the panic set in. Varok fought to keep from hiding his face in his hands. What was he _doing?_ Asking out a twenty-something year old cafe owner? Entertaining secret daydreams about it turning into something more serious? He was going to put his entire foot—and it was a pretty large foot—in his mouth. If not over dinner, then some time soon. He was sure of it. One of those nagging voices in the back of his mind insisted he should call it off before it could go any further, and he was inclined to agree. After all, Anduin had no expectations now. There was nothing to let him down over. But if he opened his mouth during dinner and said something stupid—

“Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

Dinner ended up being pizza at a local place that Anduin recommended. _Gallywix’s Pizza Palace_. It was a little over the top, and the prices were outrageous, but at least the food was good. What he’d eaten of it, anyway. Varok had ordered too much, convinced he was going to spend the entire evening finding reasons to avoid opening his mouth. The less he said, after all, the less opportunity he had to make a fool of himself.

At least, that had been his plan.

But Anduin had turned out to be such an engaging date, so effortlessly charming and easy to talk to, that Varok almost forgot to eat at all. Apart from the odd bite here and there, he barely touched his food. In truth, he hadn’t been all that hungry to begin with. Listening to Anduin, he couldn’t think of anything else he really needed, either.

“That is an ambitious plan for a small cafe,” he said when Anduin paused to take a sip of his drink.

“I don’t mind the work. It’s my dad’s dream, I have to keep it going. Surviving in business means changing with the market.”

“Is it—” He hesitated. It was their first date, was it really his place to offer Anduin life advice, or question his choices? But finally he decided that Anduin had been so open with him, the least he could do was return that same honesty. “Is it _your_ dream?” he asked carefully. “Do you want to work in the cafe?”

Anduin drew in a deep breath, as though he meant to answer, but then he held it. His brow was drawn down into a deep furrow, and he looked down at the table for a few seconds before he let out a long sigh. “Yes and no,” he admitted. “I love it there. I love the work. And I loved working with my father, even if I couldn’t be there as often as I would have liked. I was proud of him. But it isn’t the same without him there.”

Varok nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

“When I first started school, I thought I never wanted to go back to making coffee for people. I felt like I’d found something better. After a while I realized that, in the back of my mind, I still expected I’d return once I had graduated. And I was actually happy about it. So, the short answer to your question is: yes, it’s my dream, too. It’s just not turning out quite the way I expected.” He shrugged and smiled sadly. Then he gathered some of his earlier energy and asked, “But what about you? Is writing what you’ve always wanted?” He paused. “What do you even write about?”

“Oh, well.” Varok cleared his throat, reaching for his drink to buy some time before he answered. “That’s complicated,” he said after he’d run out of ways to delay the inevitable.

“What, do you write trashy romance novels or something?” Anduin laughed, poking at the ice in his own drink with his straw. When Varok didn’t answer right away he looked up, eyes gone wide and a surprised grin slowly lighting up his face. “Wait. Do you _actually_ write trashy romance novels?”

“I write historical fiction,” Varok groused unhappily. “War stories. I’ve won awards for my work.” He muttered the rest under his breath, but Anduin was too clever for his own good, and he caught something in there that piqued his interest.

“Sorry, did you say…”

“I _write_ historical fiction,” Varok repeated, “but… I get by in between by writing… _other_… things.” He sighed heavily. “Yes, I write _somewhat explicit_ romance novels. It pays the bills.”

Anduin was laughing, and at a sour look from Varok he covered his mouth with his hand, but he couldn’t hide how much he was enjoying the strange turn of events. “Oh, that’s—I’m sorry, but—” He leaned a little closer, “How dirty are we talking, exactly?” he asked.

“Anduin.”

“Heaving bosoms? Ripped bodices? _Turgid, throbbing_—”

“Okay, that’s enough, thank you.” Varok frowned. He turned back to his meal, but Anduin’s hand on his wrist stopped him before he could take a bite to hide his embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I’m not making fun of you, I promise,” Anduin insisted. Then he squinted and tilted his head to the side a bit, still smiling. “Well, maybe a little. But I _definitely_ want to read them.”

“Oh no. No.”

Anduin actually seemed shocked by his refusal, which was somehow endearing. “Why not?” he asked. “I won’t laugh.” When that wasn’t enough to change Varok’s mind, he held up a hand and added, “I’ll be very respectful, and keep my opinions to myself. You know,” he said, letting his hand fall to the table as he frowned petulantly, “if you’re worried I’ll get any ideas—”

“If I kiss you, will you stop asking?”

Anduin froze, and Varok could hear the next sound he was about to make as it caught in his throat. He stared, slack-jawed and totally motionless for several long seconds, until finally he swallowed and quietly answered, “Probably?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this fic will be updated on a sort of as-needed basis. It's kind of my little relaxation exercise when I need a break from more complex stories. But rest assured, like everything I write, it will be finished.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long to update this fic! But I bring you not just frustrating cuteness, but a bonus!
> 
> One of my very cool friends had some art commissioned inspired by this fic, which you can find [here](https://twitter.com/forest_snow124/status/1185594136906338304?s=19). Per the artist's request please do not repost this art anywhere, but definitely give them all the love on twitter because they deserve it.
> 
> And in other good news, the next two chapters of this fic shouldn't take nearly as long, because one is already done and the other is most of the way there. Thanks for your patience, and enjoy!

“…Bowling.”

“Bowling!”

Varok looked down at Anduin skeptically. Bowling didn’t strike him as a very fun date. In the first place, he’d never been bowling. A basic knowledge of the sport seemed like a good place to start, and lacking that it just seemed like a recipe for disaster. Disaster in his case meaning humiliation. After their rather frank discussion about his writing, he didn’t think being poor at something like bowling would scare Anduin off, but at the same time that incident had left him hesitant to make a fool of himself twice. At least not in a row.

“It’ll be fun.”

“You and I must have a very different idea of fun,” Varok muttered. “What about something a little less…”

“Competitive? All games are competitive. Even something like miniature golf.”

Varok shook his head. “I didn’t say anything about golf.”

“_Miniature_ golf. It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right,” Varok agreed, “it’s worse.”

He could see the fringe of blond hair swaying slightly beside him as they walked. “It’s hard to understand you sometimes,” Anduin said. He didn’t seem unhappy about it, at least.

“The best mysteries take time to uncover.”

Anduin glanced up at him and snorted.

Varok frowned. “You know exactly what I meant by that.”

Alright, three times in a row.

  
“I think this counts as our third date,” Anduin casually remarked as he waited for his ball to be sent back up the track.

“How do you figure that?”

“Coffee, dinner,” he held his arms out to indicate the rest of the alley, “bowling.”

Varok considered that for a moment. “I don’t know that coffee counts,” he said.

Anduin hefted the bright orange ball into his arms and frowned. “Why?”

“Because you own the cafe, and we never actually had coffee together.”

“Oh. That’s a good point.” He turned and fitted his fingers to the holes in the bowling ball. “But don’t you think all that awkward staring should count for something?”

Varok thought about it some more, this time drawing out his answer just for effect. “I’ll concede half a date for your bold delivery of the pastry as a means to strike up a conversation,” he said.

The orange ball hit the wood with a _thud_, and spun as it slid down the lane, striking the pins and knocking down all but two on the left side. If he’d known more about bowling, Varok might have been able to tell which pins they were.

Anduin turned back to wait once more for the ball to make its way back. “So we’re on date…” He looked up and squinted for a few seconds. “Three-and-a-half?”

“We probably shouldn’t introduce math into this.”

“Or you could just call it date number three.”

Varok considered whether it was worth it to argue the point; he did enjoy Anduin’s teasing, even if it sometimes bordered on ridiculous. But he also liked to see him smile, and nothing made Anduin Wrynn smile like being told he was right. “Alright,” he said, shrugging. “Date number three: bowling. Your ball is back.”

Anduin spun on his heel and reached for the orange ball. “Is it as bad as you thought it would be?”

“Bowling?”

“Yeah.”

In truth, nothing was as bad as he thought it would be. Spending time with Anduin was comfortable in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and couldn’t imagine doing without now that he’d had a chance to experience it. It was almost strange how easily they fell in step with one another, and how effortless their interactions seemed to be. He felt comfortable with Anduin. They had barely done more than hold hands and share one quick, fumbling kiss in the dimly lit booth of a pizza place, but it didn’t matter. He was happy with how things were going.

“It isn’t,” he admitted.

Anduin beamed. “Good!” He made an attempt to pick up the spare, missed, and shrugged it off. “Your turn.”

Varok tried to bite back on a sigh. While he’d been honest, and bowling wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it would be, that still didn’t mean he actually _enjoyed_ it. What he enjoyed was Anduin’s company. And the fresh pretzels.

“Do you want my help this time, or do you think you can do it alone?” Anduin asked.

A fair question. The first three times he had attempted to actually _bowl_, Varok had indeed required help. Anduin, being so very intent on opening Varok’s eyes to the joys of bowling, had offered to teach him. While the idea seemed romantic in theory, the reality of it had been somewhat… less so. He had nearly dropped his ball on Anduin’s foot--a ball that weighed three times as much as the one Anduin was using, as it turned out. He had even thrown it backwards once, only narrowly avoiding the rental counter and its bright, neon blue sign that happily reminded them they were bowling at King Lanes. The alley manager, a young man with a chestnut goatee and a ponytail to match, had tossed a rude gesture his way and, muttering some undoubtedly colorful descriptions of Varok’s technique, returned to spraying rental shoes.

While he didn’t like to appear as though he couldn’t handle something as simple as throwing a ball, he nevertheless had to concede that was the case. He nodded, and Anduin bounced up beside him. His hands, so soft they drove Varok to distraction, positioned his arms in a way that he claimed was the proper form. “Okay, remember: hold it like this, bring your arm back.” He stepped away--far away. “And throw!”

Varok did as instructed. The ball hit the lane with a crack and rolled forward, actually moving in a straight line for the first time that evening. He tensed in anticipation of his first actual contact with the pins…

And then he tilted his head to the left as the ball began to move right, away from the center of the lane, skirting the gutter. He was leaning all the way left by the time it sank into the scuffed black trough and disappeared somewhere behind the pins.

“It stayed on course a lot longer that time,” Anduin offered brightly.

* * *

After bowling they walked back to the cafe, and the cool air was a relief on Anduin’s skin. He held his jacket in one arm, and walked with the other tucked into the crook of Varok’s elbow. Not so simple a matter with an orc of his height, but he made it work.

“Taelia will have closed already,” he said, “but I’ve got the other key. If you want, I can make us something. Maybe tea?”

Varok hummed appreciatively. He had his hand tucked into his pocket as they walked, and Anduin was tempted to slide his own down to entwine their fingers together. That seemed like a bit much for a third date, however. Not least of all because it would put his hand in Varok’s pocket as well. Though, admittedly, he would have liked _that_ very much. He simply didn’t want to rush things, and risk ruining what was shaping up to potentially be the sort of relationship he’d previously thought he might never have.

He also didn’t want to _tell_ Varok that he was hoping they might go on to become something more. That seemed like the surest way to chase him off. Although, he supposed if that was enough to do it, they were doomed anyway. Really it was a no-win situation unless he simply sat back and allowed it to happen naturally, and that was pure torture.

They reached the cafe, and Anduin let go of Varok’s arm to fish the key from his pocket. When the door opened the little gold bell rang, and Anduin hastened to the back to switch on the counter lights. It lit the cafe in a soft, muted glow, and threw their reflections onto the glass windows around them. Anduin set about preparing the tea, while Varok leaned one arm against the counter and watched.

“You’re quick back there,” he remarked.

“Lots of practice. Besides, it’s just tea.” Anduin laughed and confessed, “All I do is add the hot water.”

“You probably shouldn’t give away your trade secrets so casually. I could take that information and make tea at home.”

“Yeah, that would probably put me out of business,” Anduin said.

Varok watched him for a moment, only smiling. Anduin suddenly found himself feeling more self-conscious than he had since the day he first dared to speak to the older orc, and he turned away. He set the infuser and then quickly found something else to do. If he kept his hands busy…

They had kissed once already, barely more than a brush of lips at dinner, and neither of them had made an attempt following that. Of course, they had only been on that one other date. Despite his negotiations earlier at the bowling alley, this was, for all intents and purposes, date number two. Still, he couldn’t help thinking of it. Of maybe trying again.

Anduin heard Varok behind him, and realized with a jolt that he had stepped behind the counter. The overhead lights cast his shadow across Anduin’s attempts to keep his hands occupied. A wide palm came around to cup the side of his jaw and he found himself turned gently, his face lifted so that he was looking up into Varok’s eyes.

“Can I kiss you again?” Varok whispered. It seemed he had been thinking the same thing.

Anduin swallowed and nodded perhaps too eagerly. His hands hovered in front of him, now bereft of anything at all to keep his fingers from clenching tight as Varok bent down to press their lips together.

Kissing an orc was never a simple matter, but oh, it was worth the effort. Anduin threw an arm around Varok’s neck and hauled himself up into the kiss, pressing his body to Varok’s, hungry for contact in any way he could have it. With his other hand he clutched at the front of Varok’s shirt--not a sweater this time, but a dark gray, long-sleeved shirt that fit him perfectly, accentuating the lines of his body and driving Anduin out of his mind all evening. He wanted to run his hands along Varok’s surprisingly trim waist, to scrape his fingernails over his skin. Distantly he was aware that only the tips of his shoes were still touching the floor, and he gasped at the thought of how effortlessly he was suspended in Varok’s arms.

When Varok let him go Anduin fell back onto his feet and against the back counter. They were both breathing hard, and seemed to have absolutely no idea what to say. Evidently that was a good thing, because instead of saying anything, Varok crowded Anduin against the counter, bracketing him in with his massive arms on either side of Anduin’s head. His chest was heaving, and for one brilliant moment Anduin thought Varok might just haul him up onto the counter and tear his clothes off. He was hoping for it. He _wanted_ it.

But then Varok stepped back and gave Anduin a lopsided smile. “The tea’s probably ready,” he said quietly.

It took Anduin a moment to move--to remember how. He nodded numbly. “Yeah,” he answered. Then he remembered what those words meant, and he exclaimed, “Oh!” and turned around to finish making their drinks.

_It’s only date number two. Number three?_ He shook his head at himself. No need to rush things. It was best not to, anyway. He knew that. He really did.

Right?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to hold off on this for a few days so I could keep to something of a schedule, but I thought I'd post it early as a sort of apology for the not-a-chapter chapter update on my other Anduin/Saurfang WIP. If you didn't catch that don't worry, just enjoy. And as always, thank you guys so much for all your support and encouragement and for being so patient!

Five dates later found them in the park. Stormwind Cafe had been hired to cater a local event, and Anduin, Taelia, and their as-yet anonymous third employee (whom Varok had not met) had been working around the clock to prepare. It left him without much time to meet for anything more than a quick bite to eat, and so they had agreed on the park, and lunch on a bench that overlooked the lake.

Anduin was sitting sideways facing Varok, legs crossed with a paper wrapper spread across his lap. He had half of an abnormally large sandwich in one hand. “New hires, transfers, things like that. They want to help their employees ‘settle in,’ so they have these brunches. They’re a huge landscaping chain. This is the first time we’ve won the contract. It’s a big deal.”

“Sounds like it. Are you going to close the cafe for the morning?” Varok had his own lunch in hand—a sub from the nearby deli across from the park. It was loaded with what the menu had claimed was _eight different kinds of meat_, which he found very appealing for obvious reasons. The owner of the shop had named it after himself, calling it the Nesingwary Safari. It was decent. Probably could have stopped at six, though.

“Can’t. We’d lose too much business. That’s our busiest time.”

“So,” he paused, “you’re going to work this event _and_ the cafe? Doesn’t that seem like overextending yourself a bit?”

“Taelia can handle the cafe. And she’s got help.”

“Yes, you’ve told me about this mysterious employee. ‘A real champion,’ I believe were your exact words. I’m just wondering if you’re taking on too much at once, that’s all.”

Anduin smiled. “It’s sweet that you’re worried for me.” He tapped Varok’s arm with the back of his hand. “Hey, you could always come help out.”

Varok snorted sarcastically. He shook his head. “You don’t want to see me handling food.”

“Well _now_ I do. If only for the entertainment value.”

They finished lunch and collected the remnants of their impromptu picnic on the bench. Anduin stood and stretched, revealing an enticing line of pale skin beneath the hem of his sweatshirt. He was wearing a striped blue button down underneath, and the tails and collar were poking out at the top and bottom. They were slightly askew, of course; he didn’t seem to have much care for what his clothes looked like outside of the cafe. Varok found it charming.

“We should get dessert,” Anduin suggested. He had both hands wrapped around Varok’s arm, slowly tugging him in the direction of an ice cream shop.

Varok protested, “It’s too cold for ice cream,” but it was a weak effort, and he gave in easily. He was cold, but not so cold that he was willing to give up the extra time with Anduin.

“You’re dressed warmer than I am,” Anduin pointed out, tugging at the end of Varok’s scarf to remind him it was there.

“Are you cold? You can wear it if you’d like.” The thought of Anduin wrapped up in his scarf gave him a small thrill, for reasons he couldn’t quite understand. Not that it mattered. Anduin was already shaking his head, and Varok tried to hide his disappointment.

“You’re warm enough,” he said simply, pressing closer against Varok’s side. He had wrapped his arm around Varok’s completely, his hand coming to rest in one wide palm.

It was… cute. They were holding hands. Varok tried not to draw too much attention to it, lest Anduin suddenly grow self conscious. He simply let it happen, and enjoyed the moment for what it was.

Anduin used his advantage and dragged him toward a small storefront, the name ICY-C emblazoned across the front of the building in blinding neon blue. He really didn’t like the look of the place. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked uncertainly.

“Their specialty is flash-frozen ice cream. Like those dots. It’s called The Frozen Cone. You’ll like it.”

Maybe that explained the name. “It just seems redundant.” _Fried_ ice cream made sense. That was a novelty. “What about that place?” He pointed to another store, not far from their destination. The sign read Blackrock Candy.

“Sweet tooth?” Anduin asked.

Varok smirked. “Now and then.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

  
They returned to the cafe together. Taelia was behind the counter, and she smiled when she saw them. “Just in time,” she said. “I was worried you’d be late.”

Anduin handed her the bag of candies they’d bought together. “Loot,” he said.

“Ooh, chocolate.” She fished around in the bag until she had found a few pieces to stuff into the pocket of her apron. “Did you ask him?” she said, canting her head in Varok’s direction.

“Ask me…?”

“I did. He said no.” Anduin frowned, and Varok realized what it was they were discussing.

“For a very good reason,” he said. “In my defense, I did try food service. Once. I’m speaking from experience when I tell you no one wants to see me in an apron ever again.”

They both turned to him, and he realized too late that he’d said too much.

He sighed. “It was a pizza place.”

“Go on,” Taelia prompted. She absently unpacked a box of paper cups while she watched him, waiting for more of the story that he was certain could not be half as interesting as they were hoping.

“I was a waiter. One of my first jobs. I was… inexperienced.”

Anduin had folded his arms on the counter. He was watching Varok with a curious smirk. “Did you spill food on your customers?” he asked knowingly.

“Actually, no,” Varok said. “It might have been easier if I had. I forgot orders. Whole orders. Pieces of orders.” He shook his head at the memory of himself. “I was not very good at it.”

“Sounds like an understatement,” Taelia said. “But everyone makes mistakes. What made it so bad you never went back?”

They were watching him so intently, so hopeful for some grand revelation, that he almost felt guilty disappointing them. It might have been kinder to make something up. He took a deep breath and said, “The owner was a very unpleasant old man who liked to throw balls of dough at the employees when they made mistakes.”

Anduin’s mouth fell open, and his eyes went wide. “You…”

“Our uniforms were black.”

“Oh, no,” Taelia exclaimed, hiding a giggle behind her hands.

“There is a lot of me to throw dough at.”

Where Taelia was at least trying to be polite, Anduin had made no such effort; his grin dissolved into breathless laughter, and he set his forehead down on the counter, slapping the countertop with his palm while he tried—not very hard, really—to get himself under control again.

“I am so pleased that the mental image of me covered in flour has brightened your day.”

“It really _has_,” Anduin wheezed. “I’m sorry.”

“You are not.”

“I’m not. At all.”

Taelia coughed into her hand and fought back another chuckle. “That’s—ah,” she cleared her throat and laughed again before finally forcing herself to stop. “That is quite an image. But you know Anduin would never throw anything at you. Apart from himself, perhaps.”

“Taelia!” Anduin hissed.

“Oh, don’t be silly. You two were dancing around each other for weeks before you finally worked up the nerve to say two words.”

Varok decided to save Anduin despite the bubbles of laughter that were still catching him every few seconds. “I’m not terribly concerned about having things thrown at me. Now. But your work relies on a knack for detail.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s just not me.”

“You write novels,” Taelia pointed out.

“Different kind of detail.”

“You’re stubborn. I can respect that.” She raised her chin a bit and folded her arms, eyeing him up and down like a particularly troublesome obstacle she had to overcome. “But have you considered this: Anduin in his little apron, surrounded by dozens of very attractive dragons in suits?”

Anduin protested, “Taelia, that’s not necessary _or_ appropriate. Jealousy isn’t going to work anyway.”

It was sort of working. Varok cleared his throat. “I’m not worried about some dragon snatching him up in their claws and carrying him off.”

“But are you _sure?_” she asked, leaning in close.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Anduin glanced over at Varok beside him; his blue apron was tied in the back with a bow, and his shirtsleeves were folded up to his elbows. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, but his hair was braided back over his shoulders. Everything about him screamed out of his element, and it was delightful. He was really trying hard not to screw up.

“I didn’t know there would be competition,” Varok said quietly. “That puts more pressure on us, doesn’t it?”

“Not as much as you think,” Anduin said with a half-shrug. He was mostly answering for Varok’s benefit; he honestly didn’t know what, if anything, it would mean for them.

In truth, he hadn’t known that Earthwarder Landscaping had awarded a contract to two different vendors. All the excitement he’d felt upon finding out Stormwind won the bid had been swept away when he arrived at five in the morning to begin setting up, only to find the Auchenai Crepes truck parked out back. They weren’t exactly a competitor, but it did put a damper on Anduin’s dreams of the cafe getting a serious boost from the event. Sharing it with another vendor was a little disheartening.

He felt Varok’s elbow nudge his shoulder. Anduin turned to find a soft smile on the orc’s face. It was clear he knew exactly what was on Anduin’s mind. “You managed to get me here,” he said. “That’s something.”

Anduin nodded. He leaned against the much larger man for a few seconds. “True. Though, it was Taelia more than anything.” He let several more seconds pass, handed a cup of coffee to someone, and then said, “You weren’t really worried, were you?”

Varok tensed up for a moment, and Anduin briefly worried he’d gone too far. They had only been dating for a month or so, after all. It was bad enough his best friend and assistant manager had more or less hijacked Varok’s morning by manipulating him into helping out. Slinging vague accusations didn’t seem like the right way to improve upon the day.

“Hmm,” Varok hummed at first, as if he needed a few seconds to get his thoughts in order. “Not really.”

Anduin’s shoulders went slack with the relief he hadn’t known he was in need of. “That’s good.”

“Maybe a bit… concerned. But not about you,” Varok rushed to add. He was arranging a plate of chocolate-dipped sugar cookies on a tray.

“About yourself?” Anduin guessed.

That earned him a halfhearted and rather unconvincing smile. “That order for the head table is ready,” Varok said, indicating the neat tray of cookies and coffee cups. He had taken his time matching the orders to the correct contents. It was actually kind of… cute, in a way. He was very careful and particular in everything he did. Anduin supposed he should have expected as much from someone who was so attentive with his writing. And his relationships, as it turned out.

“Do you want to bring it over to them?” he asked.

Varok shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. At least if _you_ spill hot coffee on someone, it’s only your own business at stake.”

“They’re black dragons, Varok. I’m pretty sure they can take it.”

“Probably a good idea not to test that theory, though.”

Anduin grinned as he gathered up the tray of meticulously prepared coffees, creamers, sugar packets, and cookies. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone?”

“I’ll _try_.”

  
Anduin made his way through the crowd of nearly identically dressed dragons in their tailored suits, finally arriving at the head table with his bounty in hand. He handed them out one by one, gave what he assumed was some CEO or VP a quick and courteous nod, and, tray at his side, turned to make his way back across the room.

He hadn’t gone more than three steps before he collided rather violently with someone in a black pinstripe suit. The impact sent him crashing to the floor, where he landed on his back with his arms and legs splayed like a starfish. In the seconds after the initial shock wore off, he realized he probably looked as stupid as he felt.

“Apologies,” he heard a smooth voice say above him. He sat up, and found that a hand had been offered to assist him. At the other end of it stood a tall, immaculately groomed black dragon with long, wavy hair, rich brown skin, and a very neatly trimmed beard. His fanged grin was brilliantly white, and his red eyes seemed to glitter as he looked down on Anduin with a half-smile that said his apology wasn’t entirely sincere.

“Thanks,” Anduin said, taking the dragon’s hand. “I probably should have been watching where I was going.”

“Possibly. However, had you done so, you might have missed where you ended up, instead.”

That… didn’t make any sense that Anduin could tell. He smiled politely, only then realizing that he was still holding the dragon’s hand. “Oh, uh…”

“What a lovely name.”

“No—that’s,” Anduin laughed. “That’s not my name. It’s Anduin.” He quickly added, “Wrynn.”

The dragon’s smile deepened. He was _still_ holding Anduin’s hand. “Which one?” he asked.

“Sorry?”

“Anduin, or Wrynn?”  
  
Anduin stared at him. He knew his mouth was hanging open, but he seemed powerless to do anything about it. “Both?” he asked.

“Are you asking me? Because I certainly wouldn’t know,” the dragon teased. He finally released Anduin’s hand, and it was only then, as it was displaced by the cool air in the room, that the incredible warmth of his skin became apparent. “Well,” he said, “whether Anduin or Wrynn, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Is that yours?” He pointed to the floor at Anduin’s feet.

“Is what m—oh!” Anduin exclaimed. He bent down to retrieve the tray. “Yes. Thanks.”

“Hardly deserving of your gratitude, but I will accept it nevertheless. Wrathion.”

Anduin peered up at him, hoping he didn’t look half as confused as he felt. “Huh?”

“My name. Only the one, however, Anduin-or-Wrynn.”

“Oh.” Anduin felt his face heat up. “Mine’s just Anduin.”

“Is it?” Wrathion asked. “What a shame. I rather enjoyed that minor mystery.”

Anduin heard himself laugh breathlessly, and he wanted to cringe at how stupid he knew he must sound. But Wrathion was grinning again, and despite himself, Anduin couldn’t seem to stop staring.

“You’re with the caterers?”

“I am. I mean, I am the caterer,” he said. “Well, one of them.”

“Not those dreadful crepes, I hope.” Wrathion made an unpleasant face in the general direction of the Auchenai Crepes station.

“Oh, no, just the coffee,” Anduin said. Without prompting he included, “We also have tea...”

He hesitated. He felt as though he’d forgotten something important, and it was only just now occurring to him to remember. But what—

Varok!

“Is something wrong?” Wrathion asked. “You look as though you just remembered you left the oven on. Or, in your case, the coffee pot.”

Anduin made a vague fluttering gesture in the direction of the coffee station. “I have to… I need to get back,” he said a little more awkwardly than he would have liked.

“Indeed. Well, this has been quite a captivating exchange, Anduin Wrynn.” Wrathion gave him a short bow, nothing more than a tilt of his head, really. He turned on his heel and continued on his way to his destination, which, as it turned out, was the head table. Once there, he took a seat beside the man Anduin had initially taken to be the senior most member of the company. He fell into conversation with the others, but not before casting a sidelong glance in Anduin’s direction. A smirk revealed one last flash of fang.

Anduin felt his face heat, and he quickly lowered his eyes as he slipped back into the crowd. He broke through the mingling dragons and their various associates, all smartly dressed as Wrathion had been, and found his way back to where Varok was waiting.

“Is everything alright?” Varok asked as Anduin slipped back behind the station.

“Fine. It’s fine,” Anduin said too quickly. His heart was hammering against his chest, and he couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t like he’d done anything _wrong_. Had he?

He frowned at himself. No. No, everything was fine.

Varok gave him a look that said he didn’t entirely believe Anduin’s hasty reassurance, but he didn’t press the issue, either. He didn’t seem worried, anyway. Which was good. Better than good—it was great. Really.

Because there was nothing at all to be worried _about_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A challenger appears!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The holidays (we're talking Thanksgiving _and_ Christmas) really kicked my ass. I'm trying to get back on a routine with my WIPs so I can keep updating them in a rotation.
> 
> This chapter is a bit different from the others, in that part of each POV segment takes place at the same time. You'll see.

“You seem… distracted.”

“Hm?” Anduin looked up, eyes wide, as though he’d just been caught sleeping in class. “Sorry?”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Varok said, “you’re the owner.”

Anduin looked around as though only just realizing he had come to work today. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and frowned. “Sorry,” he repeated.

“Anduin, is something wrong?” He had been acting strangely ever since the catering job for Earthwarder Landscaping, and Varok was beginning to worry that he’d done something to offend, or else made a mistake he wasn’t aware of.

But Anduin only stared at him for a moment, a strange, guilty expression on his face, before he shook his head and mumbled some excuse about getting more coffee filters from the back. Varok, who had been standing on the other side of the counter—no longer a temporary employee since the conference—watched him go with a frown of his own.

“He gets like this sometimes,” Taelia explained. She returned from bringing a fresh cup of coffee to one of the sit-down customers, tray in hand. “Just let him work through whatever it is, he’ll be himself again in no time.”

“I’m only worried it’s something I may have done.”

“I doubt it,” she said.

But Varok didn’t doubt it. The point at which Anduin’s strange behavior had started was clearly marked by the conference, and Varok had been the only other person in attendance that either of them knew—at least that was what he assumed. And he had no reason to believe otherwise. He just couldn’t help thinking he must have said something, let Anduin down somehow. If it had been anything else, anything Varok might have been able to help with, even if only to serve as a friendly ear, he was certain Anduin would have told him.

“Want a cookie?” Taelia asked. She was holding out a tree-shaped sugar cookie covered in bright green sprinkles and dotted with red icing ornaments. “They’re early. For Winter Veil.”

“Won’t they be stale by then?” Varok asked. It was barely midway through Pilgrim’s Bounty. He took the cookie anyway, of course.

Taelia shrugged. “More for us,” she said, and bit into her own cookie.

  
Anduin spent most of the next hour reorganizing the stockroom, which he claimed was in total disarray after his one-day absence from the cafe. Taelia offered Varok a pitying frown and several more cookies while he waited, and he dutifully ate each one. By the fourth cookie his fingers had flecks of red icing stuck to them, and he politely excused himself to the restroom to wash his hands.

He remained in the restroom for a few minutes after he was finished washing up, simply staring at his own reflection in the mirror. Despite Taelia’s reassurance, Varok couldn’t help but feel as though he had overstayed his welcome—not only in the cafe, but in Anduin’s life. They had been moving rather fast, after all; perhaps the conference had been the wake-up call for Anduin. It was one thing to go on a few dates, to hold hands and kiss, to share dinners together, but did Anduin really want Varok in his life beyond that? If he had realized his mistake during the conference, it was possible he simply didn’t know how to approach the matter, and let Varok down easy. Would it be better to just offer him the out and be done with it?

Whatever the case, one thing was clear: they needed to talk.

Varok tossed the used paper towel in the trash and opened the door to the restroom. Taelia had disappeared. Behind the counter Anduin was unraveling a roll of copper into the cash drawer. He didn’t look up when Varok approached.

“Finished with the stockroom?” Varok asked.

“Mhm,” Anduin answered. “Taelia’s on break.” He finished with the coins and shut the drawer. When he looked up he seemed more focused than he had been in days. “We can get a bite to eat when she comes back, if you want.”

“I… would like that very much,” Varok answered honestly. He felt guilty for being so surprised, but most of his interactions with Anduin since the conference had not been so ..._normal_. “Did you have anywhere in mind?”

“I thought we might the new pandaren place, Terrace of Endless Spring Rolls.”

Varok frowned. “Remind me where that is.” He sometimes thought Anduin forgot that he lived on the other side of town, and Stormwind Cafe was actually out of the way for him.

“It’s inside the entrance to the Dire Mall, just past Shadow Step Aerobics. Across from the murloc-smiths, I think?”

“Ah, yes. That’s a bit of a walk.”

Anduin nodded. He looked away again, finding somewhere to busy his hands. “Yeah, it is. I thought maybe we could talk on the way.”

Oh. Varok ignored the dryness in his mouth and the sudden weight of his tongue as he said, “Of course. I suppose I’ll just sit down and wait, then.”

Anduin nodded. “Let me get you a drink.” He turned around, leaving Varok with only his back to stare at as he set up the hot water and scooped some loose-leaf tea into the infuser.

For no other reason than to avoid being impolite—or perhaps to salvage some of his remaining pride—Varok tore his eyes away from the sight and dropped his gaze to the counter. He looked over the scribbled receipts, the unpaired plastic to-go lids, and the wooden stirrers, all of it familiar after so long spent waiting for Anduin to emerge from the back. A cup of water was new, along with a sugar packet that lay crumpled beside a torn slip of paper.

Varok only glanced at the paper at first, but something in the back of his mind told him to give it a second look. He was instantly sorry he did. The name—_Wrathion_—and the number were both unfamiliar. It was the note at the bottom, the obvious reminder for the recipient, that felt like a punch to the chest when he read it.

_From the conference_, it read.

Well, at least he had his answer.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Anduin heard Varok excuse himself to wash his hands, and took the opportunity to slip out into the front of the cafe and grab Taelia. “First, stop eating all the cookies,” he whispered.

“But they’ll be bad by Winter Veil!” she complained.

“Whatever. Second, I need help.”

Taelia fished another cookie out of the box and took a bite. “Go on.”

“I need advice.”

She squinted at him. “Cut your hair.”

“What? Tae, no. I need advice about what to do with Varok.” For effect he tilted his head in the direction of the restroom.

“That really depends on what you’re planning to do with him,” she said warily. “You’re the only one here who’s dated an orc before.”

The bell above the door rang to announce a new customer, but Anduin ignored it. “I don’t mean like _that_, Light. Would you please take this seriousl…” The word died on his tongue as he caught sight of the new customer from the corner of his eye. Wavy black hair, dark skin, and red eyes above a cunning, fanged smile.

_Oh, no._

“Well, it seems I’ve found the right place. Not that I harbored any illusions of there being an inexplicable profusion of _Stormwind Cafes_ in the region, mind you.” Wrathion smiled hungrily. “Anduin Wrynn,” he said, dipping his head in a short bow. “It’s been too long.”

Without thinking, without even stopping to take a breath, Anduin blurted out, “You can’t be here.”

“Pardon?” Wrathion asked, very clearly not expecting such a cool reception. He looked between Anduin and Taelia, who stood silently at Anduin’s side. For once she seemed content to simply watch the strange encounter unfold.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Anduin explained. “It’s just that, uh, Taelia has to go to lunch—”

“I do?”

“—and I’m here alone once she’s gone, and… distractions. No good for business. You know. I’m not great at multitasking.”

Wrathion smirked. “Yes, I gathered that from your previous difficulty walking and carrying a tray. So, you wish for me to leave? Is there a better time I might come back to speak with you?”

Anduin wanted to say _no_, because the truth was that no time was ever going to be better. He wasn’t interested in Wrathion, but Wrathion was clearly interested in him. Or else he had a very unorthodox approach to seeking business arrangements. Realistically speaking, there was no other reason for him to have suddenly popped up in Anduin’s cafe. Probably. He wasn’t after Varok, was he?

No, that was silly. They’d never even met.

Wait, Varok! Oh, _Light_, he would be out of the restroom any second! And why did Anduin keep forgetting about him? Could black dragons hypnotize people? He’d thought that was only greens. He realized he was staring at Wrathion.

“Not this week,” he lied, shaking his head a bit too much. He couldn’t seem to _stop_.

Wrathion’s red eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as though he didn’t quite buy the excuse. “I see,” he purred. “Perhaps if I left my number, then? You could give me a ring when you have more time to… fraternize.”

Yeah, no, he was _definitely_ there for Anduin.

“Sure,” Anduin said, tearing off a piece of scrap paper and thrusting it across the counter. He impatiently watched Wrathion scribble out his name and number and something no doubt mildly sarcastic and very witty. “Great. So, I’ll talk to you later,” he said quickly.

“I can only hope.” Wrathion dipped his head again. “Until then.”

He left with another chime of the bell, and Anduin thought his legs might just give out right then and there. He sagged against the back counter and let out a long, gusty sigh. “That was close.”

“So,” Taelia said rather pointedly, drawing Anduin’s attention, “you’re definitely going to explain _that_ to me when I come back.”

“Yeah, I will. But just in case he’s still out there, go take your lunch.”

“It’s barely eleven!”

“Take the whole box of cookies, go to lunch!” Anduin shoved the box into her hands and started herding her toward the door. Halfway there she gave up on protesting and just started giggling madly.

“I’m going!” she complained when he finally managed to push her halfway out the door. “I’m taking another fifteen later, though.”

“You can take a whole second lunch if you want, as long as you keep this to yourself.”

“Oh, if only you had secret liaisons with mysterious black dragons every day.”

“Taelia!”

“Going, going.”  
  
  


Varok emerged from the restroom only a moment later, barely two seconds after Anduin returned to the counter. He seemed unhappy, and Anduin couldn’t help the pang of guilt that settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach as he met Varok’s eyes. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong, but he still _felt_ like he had, and it didn’t take much to figure out why. Wrathion was obviously interested in him, and Anduin knew he should have made it clear he was seeing someone already. He should have put a stop to it right there instead of giving Wrathion any hope that something might come of their chance encounter. What he’d done instead—accepting the phone number—wasn’t fair to Wrathion and it certainly wasn’t fair to Varok.

And beyond that, he owed Varok an explanation. It was something he’d been wrestling with since the conference, but he knew now that the only way to fix the problem was to tackle it head on. He would have to tell Varok about the conference and Wrathion’s visit. He just couldn’t do it now, with customers in the cafe, while his own heart was still racing.

“I thought maybe we could talk on the way,” he said in reply to Varok’s comment about the distance. And then, just to keep from spilling his guts exactly where and when he didn’t want to, he turned around to make Varok a cup of tea he never asked for.

He had just set the infuser to steep when Varok cleared his throat behind him.

“I just remembered,” he said, already gathering up his notebook and his favorite pen, “I have a meeting downtown. Zekhan,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “About the book.”

Anduin Frowned. “A meeting? Don’t you usually meet him here?”

“This is different. I have some things to… decide.” Varok wasn’t looking at him anymore. He had his eyes trained on the floor, as though he didn’t dare meet Anduin’s eyes.

“Will I see you later?” Anduin asked. “Maybe after we close?” He tried to avoid the squeezing feeling in his chest. The question didn’t earn him a yes or no, as he’d hoped. Only a vague gesture that Anduin couldn’t really understand. “Varok?” he prompted.

At last Varok looked up, and Anduin almost wished he hadn’t. “Sure,” he said. “To talk. Later.” Then, with a quiet goodbye, he turned and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't let the drama fool you, it's only temporary. This won't take long.
> 
> These two could really benefit from some I Feel statements.


End file.
